The Geat King's Return

I wrote this poem after reading Beowulf and tried to structure the poem in a subjective way; I do not portray Beowulf as innately good, nor Grendel as innately bad. I remember this one being particularly hard to write, but similar to Scar's Soliloquy, it was a fun challenge to scribe this one.

I, the great Scop, have yet another adage to share

Come gather around to hear the truth, if you dare

For the unfinished tale and later analysis

Of the heroic Beowulf, and his noble “antics”

Who tore off the limb of the devilish Grendel

And who restored to glory Hrothgar’s beer-temple

Though armed with blade and shield alike,

His bravery and brains were his true might

He deflected the blasphemy-bullets from the “mighty” Unferth

It was not in his noble deeds where he found his worth

Instead he measured his success by the weight of his gold

Who, till the end, never lost his soul

Ah, but now the gears in your brain churning

Your flesh-mirrors are showing signs of worrying

This same one who killed trolls, dragons, and serpents from the sea,

Was this same protagonist, the greatest of the Geats?

He was the one that millions call hero?

This haughty, boastful, tyrannical-like Emperor Nero?

The same superfluous superman swooped down to save the day

Always had another question in mind: “How much will I be paid?”

Yes my kinsmen, tis the same man

The one born of Hygelac’s clan

The struggle of yours is also mine,

Was this man truly divine?

Or was he, only the right person at the right time?

A remorseful soul, seeking redemption for past crimes?

A brainless beast who needed to be pushed in the right direction?

Ultimately, are his attributes worthy of resurrection?

For in a world that pushes for the incognizant and personal

And is always surly and unmerciful,

Beowulf showed sacrifice and courage

His life was one filled with meaning and purpose

Although the adulation he acquired astounded and humbled him

He forever praised God, the deity who helped him win

So yes I too struggle with this character of Beowulf

For now, more than ever, it seems as though we need him

The world needs those who are willing to stand up for they believe in

Those who are proud of their accomplishments

Those who are willing to sacrifice and pay the price

Those who will give it all to do what is right

Yes, I join with the mourners at Beowulf’s funeral

And ask the heavens if they would be so kind,

To return the great king and send him down again

So that the broken values can be restored

And this spit-valve of mine may finally stop,

Boasting of the stories of old

And instead tell stories of the bold

That with thunderous trepidation the king can return

For we of the 21^st century have much to learn

But I also acknowledge that in the darker parts of the Earth

Another sinister chant may have been birthed

This one sung by the descendants of Cain

As they mourn Grendel and his mother, Beowulf’s bane

They profoundly preach and praise them both

Their lives of sacrifice are inspiring; all should take note

For they stood up to the horror-chants of man

They destroyed a mead-hall, and took their own stance

So in the end, there may be no heroes and villains

Simply those who act according to their will

For whether one’s life ends by a fire-giver’s talon

Or through painful decomposition

Beowulf taught to overcome temptation, sacrifice, and restore

And ultimately, to devote your life to something worth fighting for

But as Beowulf learned from his friends and foes,

Let us look to Gardener’s Grendel and see how the story unfolds!

Scar's Soliloquy

George R.R. Martin once said "Nobody is a villain in their own story. We're all the heroes of our own stories." After reading the archaic Anglo-Saxon tale Beowulf and John Gardener's Grendel, I began to see some semblance of truth in Martin's words. Grendel is the villain in Beowulf, yet in Beowulf, Grendel is displayed as a bloodthirsty monster, who lacks any conscience or thought. However, in Grendel, the reader gets to see that Grendel is much more than bestial exterior; on the inside, he is inquisitive, thoughtful, reflective, and curious. This revelation in no way excuses the actions that he does, but it provides light to Grendel's perspective and gives clarity to his motives. Inspired, I wanted to take a classic movie villain and write a Grendel-like soliloquy. I chose Scar, from the film Lion King. After writing this piece (to paraphrase C.S. Lewis' words after he wrote The Screwtape Letters) I felt awful and "dirty," (not being a fan of excusing a murderer's motives) but it was an insightful experience to (potentially) see Scar's point of view for his actions. I am in no way a fan of Scar's character. But his tragic arc still has lessons that can be learned. Here is Scar's Soliloquy. 

Even from a young age, I was neglected and scarred for life. My older brother, “the wise and great Mufasa” was always the pinnacle of good behavior and the paragon of virtue. But it was not his seemingly noble personality that irked me (to each his own, as I always say). It was the fact that his pattern of life had to be the one that all of the lions had to follow. Allow me to explain. I was a much more docile and analytical kind of cub. While my brother would gladly puff out his chest and run head first into his problems (being the dumb brute he is), I took a more precise and deceptive route, eliminating obstacles in the shadows with maximum efficiency. Yet, such a personality (or set of attributes) does not get you a wife, a kingdom, or an inheritance. These “gifts” and choice societal attributes were bestowed upon my brother, while I received nothing. Why did I need to conform to this universal definition of “good” character? Why did could I not accept myself the way I was? Why could society not accept me? It was these many years of yearning and sick exhaustion with the world caused me to cleanse and murder my dear brother in such a macabre manner. Finally, the world would take me for who I was, not what I was supposed to be. But the death of Mufasa was not the end of the problem. No, the curse needed to end with Simba. His very ascension to the throne would be proof that this horrid legacy of living a fake life would persevere. That poor, spoiled cub would take the throne, and having only seen the "stellar" example that his father set out for him, become just like Mufasa. This is not what I want to teach my future generation, nor did I want to see Mufasa's death occur in vain. Without a doubt, some will see my actions as barbaric and sinister. But where they see cruelty, I see necessity. Where they see murder, I see retribution. After all my years of struggle, there shall finally be peace across the land.

Poem of Experience: Morning Musings

Since the beginning, there was only the word

Each sy-lla-ble transcribed from God’s mouth

As he spat upon the formless mass, each speck transforming into a new part of Earth,

Yet we took the forbidden fruit, and were cast out

We built buildings, hands sweating and grinding in unified rebellion

But God scattered us all over the Earth, so we could not sin again

Now, each culture and race became distinct and unique

Now, lay grounds for rounds war based off of different physiques

Gun shots symbolize the beginning of a race war

Now as I run, I feel that my feet are cut by blades

Green knives no longer tickle my feet like before

As I look, no comrades come to my aid

Alone, I ponder why I am so different,

I shrink back to uninviting covers, asking why I am so distant

From my old reality where everyone seemed the same

When all that used to separate me and my friends was a name

Why has my skin become that of a banana?

Yellow streaks flashing like my Jordan Retro 99s

Bright hues stab my side and illuminate me

Illuminating the judgement that people place about my outside

There is no sweet fleshy interior on the inside

And I can’t peel off this skin

It has now become a part of me,

As my yoke becomes heavy and I am the cause of other’s sin

My dialect has become numbers,

Adding up and multiplying into a symphony of formulas

I am no longer allowed to love English

Playing the saxophone no more, I am a violin-playing member of the orchestra

Strings of lies drip like soggy noodles

That I “eat every day”

As I pray, to my Buddhist god

Though I wish to show the truth, others don’t believe what I say

Now, there is no mention of other food

Greek Gyros, Vietnamese Pho, and Chicago Style Hot Dogs,

German Bratwurst, Polish Dumplings, and Indian Curry

All disappear amidst the rice, ramen, and legs of frogs

But one thing continues to remain the same

My kimchee has become thick, piquant peppers sting my mouth

Each herb burning scarlet Asian characters within my body

The spices showing prices that I must pay to be myself

I slump defeated upon my blanketed sanctuary

Thoughts vanish of me having a different story

Drowned out by the waves that crash against the coast of the Far East

New memories drown out the old days of glory

Poem of Innocence: Evening Unity

In my H. British Literature class, we recently read William Blake's Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience. The most notable ones from Innocence were The Lamb and The Divine Image, while The Tyger and The Human Abstract stood out from Experience. Inspired, I wanted to create my own Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience. Here is the first of the Innocence portion.

Rays glide forth, delicately shedding light upon my silhouette

Jovial shadows that concealed the outline of my bed have now fled

The sun warmly grins, each tooth gripping the darkness,

As it takes a bite, revealing the light that arises out of sky’s carcass

He peels back the clouds to reveal a symphony of sights and sounds

As birds, roaring engines, and alarm clock unite, swarming around

Each ritual fits and covers around my mind

As I throw off blankets and skip outside

Munching my mouth on meals, I throw on my Jordan Retro 99’s

Their yellow streaks making me lightning fast, shocking my spine

This home street of mine has become an expansive valley,

Nostalgic gleams and makeshift palm trees remind me of the Cali

Each piece, whether pot holes, bus stops Jimmy Johns, or light poles

All unite as a whole and all play unique roles

Alone in the streets, yet together with my routines, I scream,

In the middle of the sidewalk, hoping my team will have heard me

They answer the call, fresh white pajama pants gleam

As comrades trip down steps, ready to seize the day and reign supreme

I run races, feet lightly kicking off shoes

Leaping side by side with my friends, not worrying of who will win or lose

My feet get tickled by soft green feathers

We all fall down and make angels in the pastures together

The night has returned, beckoning us kindly to go back inside

Our parents too shout (more forcefully) for us to take our strides,

And return home their voices being our guides

Though we want to fight, we depart ways and say we shall meet another night

Though in different households, we are all the same,

We like the same foods, play the same games, just have other names

I eat my rice and kimchee, letting the spices dance on my tongue

Craters being made where each herb was flung

I live in their skin, for our friendships are not based on outward color

But off our love for Father God, even if we come from different Mothers

Mellifluous Maledictions

Though I did not get past preliminaries, I performed this piece for LTAB (Louder than a Bomb) 2015. Hope you enjoy it.


In the beginning there was...the word…

Transferred from the waters that stirred to form the seas on the third day,

For when God spoke, darkness broke, the piercing light won the fight over the formless night

Yes, on the day of creation, God saved the world from desolation and rose up the nation, uniting us under one language,

But with the bite of an apple, we built towers of Babel, and began a never ending-battle, with words

No longer “in God we trust” it’s now “all about us” as we wage world wars with our mouths, letting profanities fly out,

And now unlike before, we have become stewards of Gondor,

We refuse to give up the crown of our hearts back to the true king,

We let our ears get swarmed by a storm of music, movies, and TV

And let the Messiah get cut down by this cyclone,

Looks like Kanye West and Jay-Z did a poor job of watching the throne,

The latter leaving us a Blueprint to follow and what path we ought to walk,

Of how to look at women and structure our talk

As we are told to sip the can of pop culture,

And let the sin sizzle in our throats,

Then vomit back caustic phrases

And let those unforgivable curses become our daily source of liberation,

Why swearing and profanity is so shockingly frequent, that it is hard to have a conversation that is decent

And no matter the reasons for people's treasons each word leaves my skin beaten, the curses pierce my side like a lance

And though I take a moral stance hoping that people will snap out of this horrific trance,

I can't leave it up Chance because these problems are just too Common

Intertwining with every 2 phrases like Batman and Robin

Robbin clean words from their mouths, and scarring innocent souls, turning them into Two-Faced criminals

And as Lamar is dropping bars, the curse words shine bright like stars,

Looking notoriously big in an atmosphere of celestial beauty,

How can I strive to be a good kid in this m.A.A.D city?

It seems as the metal-detectors of our mouths don’t realize the deadly weapons that we carry,

As they let f-bombs pass through security

And while the female dogs bark and howl at our dirty mouths,

The soles of our shoes pick up dirt of the ground and our souls become dirtied by the smack of the locker room sounds

But, I’ll be a Rebel and Anomaly, and break free from the Gravity of profanity,

That despite the calamity and abnormality of reality, I will press on to a cleaner mentality,

But people tell me, to grow up

That swearing is simply a natural part of life,

That a few words here and there are alright,

That I am a lone knight, and a flickering light, counting from 0-100 as I fight these fire Drakes

But I am not doing this for my own glory,

I speak cleanly to glorify the author of my story,

And point back to the first time in Eden,

When no one was eatin’ and God wasn't leaving,

Back to the first day, before the world had stirred

Back to the beginning, when there was just... the word